


When I was Done Dying

by sugarboat



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Monster sex, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 16:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: The hunter makes a mistake, and pays for it mostly in pride.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [当我濒死时](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241496) by [Linnena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnena/pseuds/Linnena)



There had to be worse things in life than this, the hunter thought, but at the moment, he couldn’t think of even one. 

He was deep below Yharnam. He assumed. He didn’t actually know. But catacombs were, generally speaking, long and cantankerous tunnels, hollowed out and snaking below city propers. He was only doing what he was told. There didn’t seem to be another way out of this endless night. So he had delved deep into the dungeons and thrown away what mercy he’d held left, seeking some hidden strength of the old hunters. 

Well apparently that strength wasn’t quite enough, as he let his last blood vial fall empty from his blood stained fingers. And he grimaced as well, clutching at his side, where beneath the pressure of his palm and clenching hand a wound threatened still to spill itself open. The hunter could trace the path of healing blood through his body. It was like a fire dancing along a thread, snaking in a hot surge to his chest where it throbbed in his heart and then pulsed out in flaring waves. The heat sank into the wound at his side.

He grit his teeth, hard enough to think his jaw might snap, hard enough that he heard a strange, low buzzing in the back of his ears. His flesh knit itself back together, painfully slow and unnaturally fast. The ooze of blood quieted to a trickle and then to a dull dribble of clearish yellow exudate. Its sharp, radiating agony lessened to a manageable, constant thrumming that increased steadily in time to his rapid heartbeat. The hunter pulled his hand away, uneasy at how tender and delicate the skin across his side still felt. 

He should go back. It wasn’t exactly hard to get down here, and it wasn’t exactly a good idea to keep going on unprepared. Danger lurked behind every hidden edifice in Yharnam, and particularly down here in its blood drenched roots. Doll would welcome him home to the dream, cool and pale hands extended in absolution. She wouldn’t understand, but she would call him good, and he would hear in the back of his mind _even the doll, should it please you._

No. He wasn’t going back empty handed. The hunter pushed himself away from the wall, his fingers tearing careless through centuries old moss and grime. Besides, there was no reason to suspect that he wouldn’t be able to renew his supply of blood. He drew his wrapped sawblade, torch held aloft in his spare hand. Holding his arm up tugged at the curving wound along his abdomen. There was nothing to fear down here but beasts. The worst that could happen was death, after all; a concept that had become his closest companion. 

Even so, he walked slowly down the empty and intricately carven halls. His footsteps echoed back to him like a charade of comradery, the only other sound aside from the quiet crackling of his torch. If he found a lamp before he found another horde, the hunter supposed, maybe he would go back. It wouldn’t feel so clingingly, cloyingly like defeat that way. A short staircase was before him, its entrance flanked by two statues jutting out of the walls, holding ageless flames in their hands. The hunter didn’t spare them more than a glance as he stalked past, shoving without thought through the old wooden doors at the bottom of the stair. 

A grand and rounded room greeted him. A circle of pillars marked its center, each with a torch bearing sconce so that the chamber was aglow with warm and flickering light. Perhaps the most hospitable site the hunter had as-yet seen. The carefully constructed mood was slightly ruined, however, by the terrible beast standing in its midst. A low and rumbling growl rattled out from its chest the moment it spotted the hunter, flames flaring to life in each of its hands at it took graceless steps towards the human.

The hunter had just enough time to think something like _shit_ before his mind was utterly blank. Instinct took him and had him dodging to one side, seeking cover behind what now seemed like an impossibly thin pillar just as the air around him began to singe and burn, heating his lungs from the inside as fire exploded into the stone. Unlike most of the creatures the hunter had faced before, this beast stalked him on its hind legs, reminiscent almost of a human. 

To say that resembled anything of a human, however, was to be generous. The beast was at least twice his own height, and the hunter didn’t miss the way its spine was hunched, hiding some of its length. Its limbs were elongated, bristling with the dark and blood matted fur of its ilk, and it possessed the same snarling snout that the hunter had sank his blades into time and time again. Another noteworthy feature were its strange horns, curving out and downwards from the sloping crown of its head. Curious.

This was all catalogued in the back of the hunter’s mind somewhere, filed away for later perusal. At the moment, he could hardly think over the rush of blood in his ears, the deep and constant howling of the beast that advanced upon him, long arms swinging towards him in wide arcs and hoping to catch him with its claws. The hunter leapt away, swapping his torch for a gun, waiting for an opening. The half-healed wound on his side gave a bolt of bone-shaking pain each time he landed his weight on his left side, but there wasn’t anything more he could do for it now.

The beast never seemed to tire, forcing the hunter to keep dodging left to right to avoid its lumbersome grasp. Now that he could see it more clearly, the hunter could see its fur was strangely mottled, riddled with raw and hairless patches like one might find on a stray dog. He managed to stun it a few times in a row, catching it off-guard just as it was yowling and spraying thick, fowl smelling spittle across his face. Yet no matter how many times he drove his saw into its guts, the beast seemed no worse for wear. In fact, the damage he dealt to it might even be _incentivizing_ the creature, as the smell of any blood, human or otherwise, seemed to invigorate it.

And loathe as the hunter was to admit it, he had been counting on a quick end to this fight. His skill had allowed him to best a variety of awful and awesome creatures, where brute strength or perseverance had failed. Stamina, however, was not on his side. His flank was a bright, searing spot of sharp agony, every time he stepped, every time he breathed, every time he dodged or rolled or ducked away from a swipe of the beast’s claws or a snap of its jaws. He was hyperaware of the cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

A mantra formed in his mind. _Just once more._ One more dodge, one more shot, one more blow, and the beast was sure to fall. He only had to push himself, once more, and then once more after that. The deafening bang of his gun, the acrid curl of powder in the air, a thick arterial guttering of blood from the beast. _Just once more._ The creature growling and heaving itself forward, the hunter barely scrambling backwards in time. _Just once more._

His focus had become pinpoint, tunnel-visioned. Dodge, wait for an opening, dodge. So much so that, just once, he made a misstep. He shot at the beast and ducked in close, before realizing with a sick, stomach churning shock that the creature was still standing. Too late, he jammed his leg down, rewarding himself with a stabbing spike of pain from his previous injury, stealing the breath out of him, locking him in place for a split second. The only split second the beast needed to grab him by the torso, one of its freakishly huge hands digging into his ribs and the other landing on his shoulder, gripping him mercilessly and jerking him around.

And then its jaws descended on him, clamping onto the meat of his exposed shoulder, the thick muscle of his trapezius. Its teeth sank in and it shook him, though with its grotesque hands holding him in place the hunter had nowhere to go. He wasn’t sure if he was screaming, but his throat hurt. The iron clamp of its jaws around his shoulder, crushing against his collar bone relaxed, and the hunter thought it was over as the beast withdrew slightly. It darted forward against almost immediately, sharp teeth shearing through his leathers and flesh alike, gouging fresh holes in him. Even above the copper song of blood, he could smell its fetid breath against him. 

It loosened its bite one more time, and one more time bite into the mauled and mangled mass of his shoulder, and then the beast dropped him to the floor. Without thought, the hunter pressed his right hand to the shredded skin and muscle on his left side, barely able to struggle to a sitting position. The beast was yowling, high pitched and frenzied, and the hunter hunched over on the cold ground, fighting against the bright spangles shimmering in his vision. 

He had only just begun to think about crawling to his feet when the creature’s massive hand sank into his flesh, four fingers hooking into the meat its jaws had just macerated and its thumb digging into his muscle on the opposite side, its roughly furred palm a collar that pressed tight against his Adam’s apple as it hauled him into the air and slammed him into a wall. The air was knocked out of him once more and the hunter coughed wetly, legs kicking feebly at the beast which seemed to hold him up without effort.

The beast snarled and dragged him forward, and then slammed him against the stone wall again. This time, the hunter felt a distinct pop on his side, followed by a gush of hot, thick blood as the wound on his abdomen abruptly split open. He wailed in pain, but was swiftly silenced by the beast applying pressure to his neck, strangling him. The creature hoisted him up higher, its wet snout snuffling down along his chest, long tongue licking against his leathers, searching him. The hunter almost wondered what it was looking for, until he felt its cool nose against his skin, its hot breath curling over the exposed flesh of his flank, over the newly dehisced injury that curved like a short sickle up his side. 

The hunter’s frame was trembling, probably from blood loss. At least, that is what the hunter would name as the cause. There was nothing like fear clawing at his insides, as he felt the beast first nosing at the gaping cut, and then, gods above, its tongue lolling out to slurp along its edges. It lapped at him hungrily, greedily, tongue pushing through the split layers of his skin and fascia and the hunter groaned, lifting his arms that felt leaden to try and push away its massive head. The beast didn’t budge at all. It let out a warning growl but didn’t even find it worthwhile to try and stop the hunter’s weak protests. It just buried its snout in deeper, tongue curling inside the hunter’s wound, lapping at his tender and bleeding flesh. 

It wasn’t clear how long this continued, the wet and disgusting sounds of the beast’s tongue diving into him over and over, but the hunter did eventually notice that the creature seemed to be growing increasingly restless. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see much over the matted fur of its hunched body, but its hand was clenching sporadically around his neck. Abruptly the creature straightened, and with its free hand grabbed the hunter’s left arm, and then turned the hunter to his side, so his right flank rested against the wall.

The unexplained change brought some fight back to the hunter. He wriggled his body as far as he could in the creature’s tight grasp, trying to kick out, to punch, to do anything that would perhaps give him the time he needed to put some space between them. The beast yanked him off the wall again and then slammed him forward, the blow knocking what had to be at least a screw or three loose in the hunter’s brain. The hunter’s vision was still swimming when the creature finally pulled its fingers free from his neck, and as if from far away, he felt himself being manhandled, maneuvered like a - _even the doll, should it please you_ \- puppet.

The creature’s hands encircled his hips, its fingers long enough to completely wrap around his slim torso. The hunter was facing sideways now. Though he was still trapped between the beast’s monstrous body and the wall, at least he didn’t have to stare at its ugly mug any longer. Any thoughts of gratitude were short lived, as he felt some hard and blunt shove against the entrance of the wound on his side, and finally realized exactly why the beast had been so inclined to rearrange him. The hunter didn’t know whether to cry or to rip his own hair out as he felt the head of the beast’s cock slip along the bloodied fissure on his side, and he wondered if this was how everyone in Yharnam felt all the damn time.

It was probably times like this that inspired the concept of prayer, but the hunter wasn’t exactly feeling kindly towards any deities. He pressed his sweat soaked and fever hot cheek against the cool wall and murmured something like _please._ The creature didn’t listen, or misunderstood, and it thrust its hips forward. The hunter let out a choked sob. Apparently there was some layer of connective tissue that hadn’t yet been breached, because the beast’s thick cock just skidded along his wound. He put his hand on the creature’s chest, as if he could hope to push it away, but the beast ignored him entirely and lined itself up again, ramming itself hard into his side. 

Was there any point in hoping this wouldn’t happen? The hunter didn’t think so, but he hoped anyway, as the creature rutted against him, slipping inside him just an inch, growling low in its throat as it grew increasingly frustrated. The beast bellowed, a splitting shriek that left the hunter’s ears ringing, and the next time it thrust itself forward it jerked the hunter towards itself as well, and _now_ the hunter felt himself split, crying out wretchedly as the beast buried itself to the hilt in his abdomen. 

It wasted no time in pulling itself out and slamming back in, each thrust driving the breath – _literally?_ – out of the hunter’s lungs. A steady stream of pleas now fell from the hunter’s mouth, though it wasn’t clear who precisely he was pleading to. If they were aimed at the beast, they fell on deaf ears, as it continued to piston in and out of the hunter’s guts, sometimes dragging him back and forth on its massive length like he was a ragdoll. He continued to press weakly against the beast’s chest, his vision beginning to blur and darken.

Everything from his chest down was a blur of indistinct pain, the monster’s cock a hard and throbbing intrusion burning up his insides. In some distinct corner of his mind, below the beast’s ragged breathing and the wet squelching of his insides on every thrust, he could hear blood falling to the ground in thick patters. All he could feel was the beast, the absence of it inside him almost as painful as its presence, its coarse fur dragging against his skin, the scratch of the rocks on his other side. His entire body jerked with each snap of the beast’s hips forward, its pattern lacking any hint of higher thought processes. Any hint of _anything_ in the beast’s mind aside from its own satisfaction.

Finally its hips began stuttering, the frantic pace slipping through the beast began to drive into even more forcefully, if that were possible. The hunter could feel something thicker at the base of its cock, that slammed against the tender and frayed lips of his wound on each thrust, but thankfully the beast was unable force all its length inside him. With a low, keening wail the hunter was pulled towards the creature one last time, and he was abruptly sick as he felt the beast’s release, hot and thick and _so much_ flood his abdominal cavity. It shuddered against him, hips lurching abortively at his side as it milked itself dry inside him. 

The creature dropped him as soon as it was finished. Its now limp cock slipped free from his chest with a sucking pop, a small tide of cum and blood pouring out in its wake. The hunter remained hunched on the ground, trying desperately not to think about what just happened. His weapon was lying discarded on the tiles near him, and he reached out with a shaking hand to grasp its handle. _A hunter is a hunter, even in a dream._ Or a nightmare. He staggered to his feet, much of the left side of his body alarmingly numb.

The beast had dropped to a crouch on the ground, its spine still hunched and its neck sloping forwards. The hunter wasn’t sure what it was doing, but didn’t care to wait to see. On unsteady and shivering legs, he dragged himself up behind the beast, his vision swimming with spots of black and red and white. He shouldn’t have any strength left but his chest burned and he slammed his axe into the beast’s protruding spine, at the base of its cervical vertebrae. The creature howled, stunned, and the hunter wrenched his saw free and then hacked at it again. And again. And again.

Its bones crunched beneath his onslaught, and he felt something tender and taut snap within its spine and he kept going. Blood sprayed across his face and he kept going. The creature’s body went limp and he kept going. It whimpered and whined incessantly beneath him like a beaten pup and he kept going. He didn’t stop until he could watch the red lights dim from the creature’s eyes, and continued to carve its corpse even then.


End file.
